The Black Pearl
by miss-cold
Summary: Lately he had needed to capture the helpless happiness that had overcome him in the smooth white crescent beaches. Why was Jack so happy? [slash] pre PotC2


A/N: A short little ficlet which suddenly struck me.

Warning: mentions of malexmale, slash, yaoi etc.

Disclaimer: I don't own anything and I'm not making any money.

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**The Black Pearl**

The Pearl sung under his hands as Jack worked her into the bay humming the old sea song Elizabeth had taught him. The air was warm, humid this close to the land, as gulls cried in greeting to their distant white sailed cousin.

The small wooden docks filled with dark skinned children with bright white grins, and Jack flashed them a gold one in return as they ran along side the ship as it drew to a stop.

The bay was off most Naval charts, homing only natives and the occasional traveller, but it was so sheltered it allowed for long docks and walk ways to form dark webs across the clear deep water. They were used for shellfish diving, fishing, and for docking small as well as large ships, the depth of the bay being perfect.

Jack let his crew finish up as he clambered down off his precious ship, he only ever came here when he was in a good mood. Lately he had needed to capture the helpless happiness that had overcome him in the smooth white crescent beaches, soak it in the summer sun and treasure it like he treasured the sound of the ocean lapping at his feet as he counted the stars in the clear night sky.

Except he couldn't remember why this giddiness consumed him.

He took his boots off, throwing them under a tree, knowing one of the native children would take them to the small hut he stayed in.

Digging his toes into the white sand he traced the giddiness back to a few nights ago when they had stopped at a British port, notorious for its lack of security and dealings with illegal trade. He and the crew had split after the first round of drinks and he'd wandered into an establishment that had promised fine rum for half the noise factor.

The small waves ran along the shoreline as Jack sprang back from the bolder ones that tried to catch him unaware.

He remembered noticing that the place didn't cater much to the likes of him, but knew that as long as he kept quiet, the upper-class British need for privacy, and the distaste for an evening ruined by any ordeal would keep him safe. He was ignored, but the rum was fine company.

Gulls fought over a small scrap they had stolen from a fisherman perched on one of the long docks out at sea. Jack waved to the man who waved back, the words the fisherman shouted lost in the warm breeze, but Jack knew he was warning him about the storm brewing dark and violent on the horizon as he waved towards the clouds that followed the warm breeze. Jack waved and kept kicking the sand as he walked on as he tried to remember.

His tanned feet contrasted with the white sand, like his hand laced in long pale fingers. He concentrated on the sudden memory, knowing only that they were hands of a sailor, calloused, male. Frowning he had to admit he was surprised, he usually dallied with men, but when he drunk as much as he had that night he usually found himself in bed with women, he had no idea why that happened, it just seemed to be the case. But he was grateful for the small blessings, grateful to be drunk enough not to tell the difference, grateful not to remember much on those nights, women sent shivers down his spine.

But the memory, or half formed recollection of a mans hands surprised him.

Jack glanced out to sea. The clouds were drawing closer and he could see the ocean changing with the coming storm, darker, deeper. Like the eyes he remembered watching him, searing through him, pinning him down and setting him on fire. Eyes that spoke of more than sudden lust and a backstreet tryst. Jacks brow furrowed as he tried to remember, tried to catch a glimpse of this man that his own memory hid from him.

The wind curled around him soft, warm, expectant, like the breath tracing along the shell of his ear murmuring, rhythmic, steady, ocean waves. He couldn't remember words, wasn't sure if any were spoken but remembered the feeling behind them, a silent promise.

The first large drops, released from the heavy laden clouds, warm from the humid air. Fresh. Not salty like the tears he suddenly remembered tasting, his own or the others he couldn't recall, but it pained him now, not remembering.

He needed to know if the feel of the soft strands of hair slipping through his fingers wasn't just a figment of his alcohol induced haze, the salty taste of sweat on his tongue hadn't been imagined to fill in the blank gaps where a face and a voice and a name should be.

He knew this man had taken something of his, he wasn't sure he was willing to give. Jack stood in the rain, eyes closed, feeling the warm drops and the cool mist as the wind caught sea spray off the top of breaking waves.

Droplets no longer fresh, but still warm and now salty like the tears of the ocean, as Jack fingered the black pearl caught in his hair. Woven in by long pale fingers which he remembered belonged to a man with eyes and voice and taste like the sea who spoke in low murmurs like breaking waves.

Promising as Jack drank the salty tears that sealed the vow.

That he loved Jack.

-

But he had taken something of Jack's which Jack could never have back.

His devotion and love of the sea.

And that was why Jack was helplessly happy.

-


End file.
